


Can Anybody Find Me (Somebody To Love)

by sageamsterdam



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-29 08:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageamsterdam/pseuds/sageamsterdam
Summary: Inspired by its namesake song.





	1. Each morning I wake up I die a little

_"BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BE-"_

Without even needing to open your eyes, your Pavlovian response kicked into full gear and your outstretched arm furiously slammed down on the alarm's snooze button. The cold December chill tingles your senses a little as you burrow deeper into your duvet. 

You try to ease back into slumber, but the alarm's damage is done. You're awake, and your maladjusted body clock is not about to switch off that easily again. Opening your eyes, you're greeted with a darkness that blankets your entire bedroom. It's still 6am. Maybe just lie in bed a while longer? You stretch your legs a little, until your right thigh brushes against a stake of papers. 

The depositions.

The depositions that you were supposed to finish going over last night but you gave up around 2.30am because you could no longer keep your eyes open, telling yourself that you are way too tired now, that you would still have time to continue in the morning. The depositions that you have to submit to your senior partner at noon. 

Begrudgingly, you sit up in your bed. While the rest of your body was still struggling to catch up, your brain is in overdrive. You only have three more sets of files left, and you don't have any meetings in the morning apart from a phone call that you were expecting from the Public Prosecutor's office. If you can get into the office by 7am you can finish the depositions by 10am, finalise them by 10.30am, and get them into the the hands of the senior partner by 11am. He won't be impressed by the early deliverable, but he definitely won't be unhappy. And unhappy partners don't promote you. 

By the time you've reached that mildly satisfactory conclusion, you're already halfway through your morning shower. You might not get a lot of things right in this life, but your body is definitely the pride of Pavlov. 

"Hi mom, you called?" You wedge the receiver between your head and shoulder while you unpack the sandwich your secretary bought for you. Your face falls slightly at the contents... surely the deli sold more than one variety of sandwiches. Elise either really hated you, or she really liked watercress and egg. It was the third time one this week.

"Hello sweetheart, are you at work?"

"Mom, it's 12 noon on a Wednesday, so no, I'm not at work, I'm at Harrods picking up the Sunday roast."  

She tuts, "No need to be so touchy. I meant, are you out at lunch? We've just finished ours. I know how busy you are, but you can't be too busy to eat. I don't want you to be skipping meals, or worse, eat one of those ridiculous sandwiches from the city cafes, so overpriced and cold-"

Her familiar voice warms you a little, and in the far distant you can hear the barking of your family golden retriever. You picture her in the kitchen, just finished with the cleaning after lunch, boiling her daily pot of Earl Grey while preparing sandwiches and scones for tea. You feel a slight stab in your gut as you look down at your overpriced and cold sandwich. Some bits of watercress have drooped out of the bread. Typical.

"Yeah I know mom, don't worry. I'm eating." You take a bite of the sandwich and with your other free hand, you pick up the draft affidavits that your junior associate left at your table. Immediately, you catch a grammatical error within the first sentence. 

 "- and your Aunt Melanie was just asking about you the other day, apparently she's having some trouble with her neighbour's dogs and was wondering if you could give her any advice-" 

You vaguely picked up something about Aunt Mel wanting to sue because her begonia beds were being dog-pissed all over. "Uh huh," you muttered as you continue vetting the document in your hand. A cancellation here, a rewrite there. You aren't really paying attention to your mom anymore, until - 

"- you remember him right? He was in Africa with Doctors Without Borders but now he's back for good, and he's been asking about you!" Even over the crackling static of the phone, you can hear the expectant hope in her voice.

"Mom, not this again. I told you before, I don't have time for that nonsense right now. Also the last time I talked to him, I was pretty sure he was gay." 

"Nobody knows that for sure! And he's such a nice boy, you know he bought these African masks for us... I'm still trying to find a place to hang them in the living room but you know, it's the thought that counts-" 

"Okay mom, if this is what you called about, I really got to go. I have a meeting to prepare for." Without waiting for a response, you hang up. A split second later, you wince at your internal guilt. Yes it was rude and this was the fourth consecutive time you've hung up on her calls with imaginary meetings to prepare for, but you really didn't have the time or emotional bandwidth to deal with her breathing down your neck about your chronic state of being single. Taking another bite of egg and bread, you turn to the second page of the affidavit. 

Most offices clear out by 6pm, but Declan & Smith was not most office. 6.45pm usually signalled a short dinner break, before work continued on into the late night. Thankfully secretaries didn't stay past 6.30pm, so you wouldn't be subjected to another watercress and egg for dinner. You stand up to do a mini stretch while scanning the rest of the office floor. The other lawyers were all missing. Your paranoid brain wonder if there had all scooted off to dinner without you, until you remembered that half of them were stuck in a group conference call with the Paris office for the big cross-border fraud case while the rest had gone to court for the day. If you quickly run out now, nobody would notice that you went to get some hot food from the pub across the street. _Maybe even get half a pint_ , you jokingly mused; god knows you deserved it after practically rewriting that affidavit.

Furtively, you get your coat and walk out of the empty office, and for a second you felt like the 15 year old rebel who jumped across the school fence to skip class and go to the record shops. Ah, good times. You walk out of the building and cross the emptying streets into The Three Goats Heads. The pub was slowing filling up with white collared folks, and you walk past a table of red-faced middle aged men in suits who looked like Happy Hour started a tad too early for them.

You drop anchor at a quiet corner of the bar counter, away from the boisterous chats and clinks of pints. Eddie, the resident bartender, walks over to greet you while you took off your coat. "Hey Annie! Haven't seen you in here for a while. I missed you!" He put on a mini pout that would have worked on someone else, but to you it just looked ridiculously hilarious. "I missed you too," you smile at him, "and by you I mean the Guinness pot pie." 

"There you go again, looking at me like I'm just a piece of meat to you," he replied jokingly, "One pot pie coming up. Do you want anything to drink?"

You contemplate for a short while, but the work waiting for you back in the office won the debate in your head. "Nah, I'm good for today."  

As Eddie walked away, you take a moment to take in your surroundings. The Three Goats Heads was a beautiful hole-in-the-wall that was mostly populated with the nearby office goers, some stray tourists (who probably made a wrong turn down this street) and the occasional stag do when the groomsmen couldn't be arsed to bring the group to a different pub from the one that usually went to after work. Tonight, luckily, you seem to be spared from the last category. 

You were just relaxing and picking up the list of craft beers available for the month when the door to Goats Heads burst open, welcoming in a rambunctious group of four guys. In the sea of crew cuts, low fades, collared shirts and grey blazers, they could not stick out more had they walked in naked. Dressed in a motley of weird prints, mops of messy curls covered each of their faces and one of them was carrying a guitar case. They were laughing at something one of them had said, and it wasn't the polite "oh ha ha" kind of laugh. It was the "belly-ache inducing, laugh till you have tears streaming down your face" kind of laugh that made you feel left out if you weren't in on it.

"Hello darlings, what a good day it is today!" announced one of them, who was wearing a jacket that you can only describe as... an angry lizard. "We have had such a wonderful day today - drinks are on us! I mean, on Brian!" he gestures to the tallest of the group, the one carrying the guitar case. Surprisingly, he didn't look offended at that impromptu delegation. "Sure, why not," he smiles, turning to the crowd in the pub, whose attention they have completely captured. "A round for everyone on me!" 

Cheers erupted all around the room as Eddie walked out with your pot pie. "What's happening?" he asked you as he set your dinner down.

"You're gonna have a busy night ahead," you warn him, just as the aforementioned four guys walked up to the bar counter. 

"Hi there my good man, we just promised a round of drinks to everyone in this pub - sorry for the extra trouble," the one whose name was Brian explained to Eddie while having the decency to sound genuinely sorry.

Eddie grins, "hey man, no trouble at all, as long as someone is picking up the tab. Annie, you heard that? These chaps are giving out free drinks, can I finally tempt you with one?"

You were surprised to get dragged into the conversation - Eddie could usually tell whether you were in a chatty mood and would leave you alone if you clearly weren't. But you couldn't get out of it anymore; by now, five pairs of eyes were fixed on you. You look up from the list of craft beers.

"That's fine, I'm really good with just the pie. Uh, but thanks for the offer?" you offer awkwardly to the group of four. 

This was the first time you looked at them up close and properly, and damn if they don't have a certain charisma that was sorely lacking by your peers. Angry lizard was preening, clearly still buzzed from whatever that gave him that good mood, while the other three had humble smiles of rock star pedigree. So maybe they weren't a stag do.

You realise the blonde one was staring at your pie. 

"That looks good. What's it?" he asked. 

"Guinness pot pie. It's as good as it looks," you shrug. A part of you kind of wanted them to leave you alone because you were getting rather hungry at this stage and your pie smelled really, really good. Another part, however, was unable to keep your eyes away from your fellow pie connoisseur, because who gave him the right to look _so_ good in his messy long hair, cherubic blue eyes and an unbuttoned hippie print shirt? 

"Well you can't have pie without a pint," he replied easily. The other three gave each other knowing looks, ordered some beers, and scattered off to find a table, leaving the two of you alone. 

"Was that a question or a statement?" You posed at him, and his lips curve into a smile. You could tell in an instant that it was the type that forebode trouble, and trouble was something that you have expertly navigated away from for the longest time. 

"Let's find out," he hops into the seat next to you, and orders two lagers. "I'm Roger."


	2. Take a look at yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was more of a set-up really, this is where the fun begins. Enjoy!

So the evening was not turning out the way you had expected. Your original plan was to grab a quick dinner, pop into WHSmith next door to grab a copy of The Economist, and head back into office. Yet now, you find yourself discussing the anatomy of a good pie with a complete stranger.

"I'm sorry, what exactly did you want?" you ask him, genuinely confused. You're not completely desensitised, you know that he's objectively extremely attractive with eyes of cerulean seas that you wish you could swim in but there's not a cat's chance in hell that he's returning the feelings. In your plain white blouse and black pencil skirt, you were toeing the line between office lady and banquet waitress. You internally slap yourself for not touching up your makeup since 7 in the morning.

"Nothing!" Roger replied earnestly. "I just really like pie." A beat of silence, then, "also there's nothing sadder than to see a pretty girl having dinner alone."

Emotional restraint is a key trait that your profession has well-trained you in, but that didn't stop your heart from skipping a beat. Still, something told you that this was not the first time he's tried that line on a fellow lady. You could tussle.

"Ah, I know that tone. It's pity." You sigh dramatically at him. "But I'm good. You can just let me have dinner alone."

He doesn't look away.

"I _could_..." he nods slightly, just as the two lagers he ordered appeared on the bar table, "but... I don't want to?" He looks at you expectantly, and immediately you know what's going on. He's giving you an out to take, if you weren't interested. 

You think it through. You could just turn him down here and now, it was the sensible thing to do. You still had work waiting for you back in the office. But you also have a pint in front of you, and with it a very, very cute guy. It was rather pathetic how quickly the rational side of your brain was collapsing.

But you expected it - you haven't really had time to have a proper conversation with anyone for a long time; the last guy you talked to about something other than work was Al the janitor, who lost his wife recently to cancer. How bad could one dinner chat be?

Without leaving another second to change your mind, you pick up one of the pint and raise it towards Roger. "To pies." 

His smiles widen, as he grabs the other, and gently clinks it against yours. "To pies, and not eating dinner alone."

"You're a lawyer huh," Roger confirmed after you told him that you worked at Declan and Smith. "Yeah," you replied dismissively, not really wanting to talk about work, "what about you?" 

You doubted he worked anywhere in the vicinity. From his outrageously printed shirt to his messy blonde mop, he looked more of the creative type. Or a hippie. God, please don't let him be a jobless hippie. 

"I'm a drummer." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"D-rum-mer," he enunciated more clearly, but the pronunciation wasn't the problem. 

"No I heard that yes, I meant like, you play the drums?" 

"That's what drummers generally do, yes," he replied, clearly amused by your confusion.

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything," you quickly apologise, hoping you hadn't offend him. "I was just a little surprised. Very little drummers in this area." You gesture around the pub, which is now filled with office folks.

He looks around the bar to see what you mean. "I get that. Well we aren't usually here either, it's just that we-" he points at the table where his three friends were "-happened to have a meeting nearby." 

The three guys were clearly in high spirits, and every other second angry lizard was hugging the other two, telling them that they were "rockstars" and pressing kisses onto their faces. 

"Must have been a good meeting," you muse. 

Roger's face beamed, "it was great really. We just got signed to a proper record label today. That's why Freddie is so excited. Well, more excited than usual."

"Oh, so you guys are all musicians! That's really cool." 

"Yup, we're in a band together. Fred's the lead singer and plays the piano, Brian, he's the tall one, on the guitars, Deaky plays bass," you follow his fingers down the table, "and can you guess what I play?" 

"The harpsichord?" You proffer, and you both laugh. "But wow, that's amazing. You guys must be feeling on top of the world right now. Congratulations on getting signed!" 

"Yeah! It's such a relief really, because we've all been digging deep into our savings to keep it going. I love music, but it doesn't really pay the bills," he shrugs, taking a deep slug of beer. 

You smile at him, while thinking about your own problems, which happened to be the exact opposite of his situation. 

"Well now you get the best of both worlds." You take another sip, and realise you're both dangerously close to finishing the pints. Before you know it, the words are coming out of your mouth. "Do you want another? My treat, as congrats for getting signed." 

He gazes at you, and you immediately regret the offer. _What exactly is your endgame here Annie_ , you hear a voice inside your head,  _you know you can't deal with this in your life right now-_

"Actually..." he begins, just as Freddie calls him over. 

"Rog! Can you come here for a second? I'm so sorry darling," he turns to you, "but I'm gonna have to steal our dear boy for a second-" 

Roger turns to look at you with a slightly pained expression. A million thoughts start running through your head. _Was this a cop out? Did he send some kind of secret signal to the rest of the guys to bail him out of this boring conversation? Are you so dreadful to talk to that he can't wait to leave? You should just save whatever bit of dignity you have left-_

"Oh that's alright! Your band's calling you, you really should head back to them. And anyway, I got to get back to the office." You can see the puzzled expression assembling on his face which was not new to you - it was abnormal to hear that someone was going back to the office after dinner. Before he could interject, you hurriedly get up, and in the process, you hit your knee against the bar. 

 _Oww_.

"And erm, thank you for the drink. Bye Roger," you smile at him for what you are pretty sure is the last time ever, hoping none of your embarrassment leaked out.

You squeeze past some bankers and the band's table without registering their confused faces, and practically ran out of the Goats Heads. 

 _Well done Annie_ , you thought morosely, _can't even talk to one cute guy without falling to bits_.  


	3. At the end of the day

By the time you look back up from your files, it's 9.30pm and your eyes are glassy. Your attempt at using work to numb the ache in your heart since the dinner encounter has been rather successful; you've finalised two reply letters to opposing counsels, demolished through a research memo by a junior associate - which had more holes in it than Swiss cheese, you definitely got to talk to him in the morning about the slipping standards of his work - and reorganised your entire desk.

Truth be told, you were pretty much done with the day. You just didn't want to go home and face the four walls of your apartment. 

"Not heading back yet, Annie?" Janice, who sits three cubicles away from you, asks. She's packing hurriedly and a few sheets of paper fall off her desk. 

"Soon," you tell her, as you watch her plop open her compact and dab some powder on her cheeks. "Are you heading somewhere?" 

"Yeah, it's my fiancé's birthday today. I was actually hoping I could go back immediately after court," she sighs, "but Haverford made me come back to compile the documents for tomorrow's session." She made a face. You laugh. 

"That's Haverford for you," you reply, and she shakes her head in disapproval. Suddenly, there was a beat of silence between the two of you that was getting awkward.

"So... how are you guys planning to celebrate?" you venture, just to keep the conversation going.

"Oh you know, just a late night movie and a supper," she says, "can't really plan anything exciting around our work, I'm just lucky Louis is so understanding." 

"Yeah, lucky..." you reply and trail off, not really knowing what else to contribute. Luckily for you, she finished her makeup routine and picked up her bag.

"See you tomorrow!" She smiles at you and before you can respond, skips out. 

You look around the office. You think about Janice and Louis. You've met Louis once, at a company party. He was a securities trader at Barclays who played tennis in his spare time. He met Janice through a mutual friend who had set them up for dinner two years ago - a dinner which Janice had asked you to cover for her when she left the office at 6pm (" _Please Annie! Apparently he's really nice and this might be my last chance to meet a proper guy!_ "). He had perfectly lined, pearl white teeth and when you mentioned that you were interested in buying some IBM shares for investment, he politely but firmly told you that it was a bad idea and that you should talk to your financial advisor on such matters, and if you did not have one, he would absolutely recommend you his colleague if you wanted?

But Louis was sweet and caring to Janice, and was someone that Janice had. And now they were getting married in two months' time. 

You look down at the memo in front of you, scrawled with your own messy comments that would definitely need some deciphering tomorrow morning.

 _You are lonely,_  a little voice quivers inside your mind. 

This is what happens when you don't inundate your head with work. Your mind starts festering the other emotions that you've managed to box away in one tiny alcove of your brain.

Frustrated and tired, you impulsively start packing up your bag. _It's okay_ , you tell yourself, _you can sleep it off_. Some wine ought to do the trick for tonight. 

You push the heavy set doors to the office building that releases you into the cold night air. You pull your scarf around your neck tighter, as you turn towards the nearest tube station. Suddenly, you hear something behind you. 

"Hey, Annie! Hey!" 

The familiarity of the voice floors you. _Is that..._

You whirl around and find yourself face to face with Roger. He looked exactly the same as he did in the pub, except that under the warm glow of the streetlamp, a gentle softness enveloped his presence. Also, his face was flushed red from the cold, and you can see that he had buried his hands deep into his coat pocket for warmth. 

"Hi," he greets you, shivering slightly, while you stare at him agape. 

"Roger? What the he- what are you doing here?" you ask him, just as he lets out a loud sneeze. Instinctively, you remove your scarf and wrap it around his neck. It was burgundy and floral printed, but aesthetic was hardly the importance at the moment. 

"Oh- I- er, thanks," he was momentarily stunned by your action, "it's okay though, you must be cold as well-"

"Shush, you look like you're one more sneeze away from actually falling sick." you take a step back after completing the deed. "So, what exactly are you doing here?"

He looked a trifle bit embarrassed. But it might just have been the cold. You were never really good at reading guys.

"I was- I mean, you- just now you just ran out... I don't know if I did something wrong, or- and you mentioned you worked at Declan and Smith so I asked around about where it was... couldn't go into the building because they didn't let visitors in after 7.30 apparently..." 

"You've been standing here in the cold since 7.30pm?" You ask incredulously. 

"Well, 7.50-ish. But it's fine, I had a smoke or two, really warmed up my lungs-" he started rambling again while running his hand through his hair. "I just wanted to see you again." 

"That's... insane! I could have left the office, or we could have missed each other, or I could have stayed in the office till 2 in the morning... are you crazy?" 

"I mean, I had no idea how else to find you!" he raised his voice defensively. 

You look at him, partly horrified, partly surprised and partly curious. You rub your nose, "you didn't have to find me." 

He didn't back down from his defensive tone. "Of course I did! You just skedaddled out on me in the middle of a conversation. I got to at least find out what I did wrong!" 

Now you were getting embarrassed. You really didn't want to revisit the awful dinner memory - awful as a result of your own doing.

You reply curtly, "Nothing, okay? You did nothing wrong. Don't worry. You can go back to your life now." You start to turn away but before you know it, a pair of cold hands had grabbed yours.

"No, you don't have to say that. I know that I can be a bit of a dick sometimes, even the guys told me that I must have done something wrong earlier-" he starts explaining but you are too distracted by how icy his hands were. 

"Roger, your hands are freezing!" 

"That's fine, it always is. Think my body's hemostatis is spoilt or something," he says dismissively, "anyway, like I was saying-" 

This was getting ridiculous. You were two human beings, perfectly capable of walking. Across the street, you see the lights to the Three Goats Heads still on, and you make an executive decision. 

"Come on, if we are continuing this we better do this somewhere where we don't freeze our bits off." You point at the pub, and he nods, pulling his hand off yours. You felt a slight disappointment that you push down deep into your gut. 

Behind the bar, Eddie was polishing some glasses while watching the soap on the battered tv box overhead. His eyes light up as the two of you walk in. 

"Twice in a day! That's a record for you Anns," he says, before noticing Roger following behind, " and welcome back to you too, where are your wonderful friends?" 

"They've gone back," Roger replied, "can I get something hot? Please?" 

Eddie beams, "of course. We got hot cider, some seasonal eggnog, I can make you an Irish coffee..." but Roger shakes his head. 

"No like, tea? Do you have any tea?" 

"Oh of course we do. Is earl grey alright for you? Oh but it's late... I have some decaffeinated camomile, how about that?"

Roger smiles in approval. 

A few minutes later, you're both sitting at a table facing each other with two cups of decaffeinated camomile tea on the table. You examine him carefully, wondering what exact ulterior motive he had. _Maybe he preyed on pathologically lonely women_ , you think in shock, _blackmailing them into giving him money._ Was he even really a drummer? Were those guys really in a band? 

Meanwhile, Roger was guzzling down his tea, letting out appreciative murmurs between each sip. "That's the stuff," he announce and you notice that he had finished his cup. You push yours towards him. He eyes it and looks at you, and you let out a non-committal shrug. Gleefully, he picks up the second cup and the cycle begins again. 

"Okay, so I'm telling you properly now, you didn't do anything wrong. You really didn't have to wait for me to apologise or anything, if that was what you were doing," you tell him. 

"Then why did you run off like that?" he asked. His tone was surprisingly warm and gentle, and it felt like a genuine question loaded with concern and worry.

"I told you, I had work to finish in the office," you reply smoothly.

"Nuh-uh. You were just asking me if I wanted another pint," he pointed out, "which, by the way, I'm still holding you to."

"That was _before_ I remembered that I had work," you repeat. "Do you want me to get the surveillance camera tapes from Eddie to prove it?" 

He stares at you and the lingering eye contact was disconcerting. You clear your throat, "so now that we've come to the bottom of this case, this is a good point in time to part... erm... ways..."

He suddenly leaps forward, leaning against the table towards you.

"Okay! I'm very glad to hear that we were not off to the rocky start that I feared," he smiles at you. "You know," he pause to take another sip of tea, before continuing, "you're really cute when you get flustered." 

_What?_

Well that certainly came out of nowhere. "Excuse me?" 

He nods earnestly, "You do! Earlier when you, what was that excuse again,  _remembered you had work to finish_ , and ran out of here like a scurrying chicken, and just now, in the cold, when we met again." 

He finishes, and looks at you for a response. 

"Did you just compare me to a chicken?" 

"In a good way!" 

"How exactly is being compared to a chicken a good way?" 

"Like you know, when you open the coop doors and the chickens all flap out into the yard-" Roger trails off when he notices the expression on your face. 

"Okay, maybe not a chicken." he waves his hands in the air, as though that dismissed his entire attempt at an analogy. "But my point remains," his voice turns slightly serious, "you were very cute and I liked that." 

"Is that... is that how to get girls? By telling them that they are cute when they are flustered? Is that supposed to be flattery?" you narrow your gaze at him. For sure, it was a downright cliche. But when it came out of Roger's mouth, combined with those earnest, sparkling eyes, you could see how it becomes very difficult to turn him down. 

"It's not flattery if it's true," he replies easily. You internally struggle to keep it together. 

"Well, fun as it was, I unfortunately cannot entertain this late night adventure with you, I have to be up at 6 tomorrow morning," you get ready to stand up and prepare to quickly get the hell out of the pub before you lose yourself to him. His face stricken. 

"Okay, okay, Annie, please wait," you hear a slight despair in his voice, which tugs at you. "I'm sorry for... well, whatever you'd call that. I just, I didn't know how to approach you, you know, you're a lawyer in the city, I'm just a drummer, I don't... but I genuinely liked talking to you and I was hoping... you might have... But anyway, I totally get it now, it's okay, I'll just go-" 

You watch him hurriedly stand up, pull out some loose bills from his pocket and put them on the table. He looks at you, gives you a sad smile and turns towards the door. 

"Hey, Roger-" you begin, but he didn't stop. You were very confused; the rational side of your brain was telling you to just let it go, but a stronger, deeper urge was telling you that you couldn't let him walk away. 

You grab your bag and follow him out. "Wait!" you call out, "Roger! Stop right there, you... chicken!" 

He stops in his tracks at the last word, and turns around. You realise he was still wearing your scarf.

It looked really good on him.

He tilts his head slightly, and you hear the silent question it posed. 

"I... I still owe you a pint," you tell him.

As you see the smile slowly but surely break over his face, you can't help but smile too.  

 


End file.
